Undercover Love (The Women of Manatee Bay, Book 2) (25 page)

Probably a junkie, if the victim was from this side of town.

The scent of cinnamon wafted beneath her nose. She felt Grant slide next to her. “Drug deal gone bad?” she asked.

He shook his head and she could sense the worry in him. Maybe by the way his fingers curled into fists. “Number one dealer in Manatee Bay. Conveniently dead.”

So someone had offed Slasher. Justice.

She studied Grant. “Isn’t that good?”

“Yeah, kind of.”

“What do you mean kind of?”

“Charlie’s taking you home.”

“What? Why?”
Grant wants to protect you
.

“Rachel, I don’t have time to answer a quiz. Let’s go.” He nudged her arm, then applied a more forceful pressure when she didn’t budge. “I don’t need you nosing around right now, stirring up trouble. I’ve got a full night ahead of me.”

She should’ve known he’d keep her out of any information. Same old cop games, just a different player. She planted her feet firmly in the dirt.

His jaw hardened beneath the glare of the strobes. “I’m not doing this with you. Either you start moving or I’m going to carry you to Charlie.”

Her knees locked. She clenched her fingers and then relaxed them. “Try it, buddy, and see what happens.”

He reached for her, and quicker than she could react, flung her over his shoulder. The muscled knot of his shoulder dug into her stomach and for a second she lost her breath. Then she sucked it in and nipped him on the back.

He jerked, his grunt punctuating the night, and momentarily his hands released her legs. She slipped forward, suspended, breath stuck somewhere in her throat, but before she nose-dived, he hoisted her back and secured her knees against his chest. He’d almost dumped her on the ground.

She almost wanted him to.

Then she could blast him for his Neanderthal behavior. Instead, he flopped her to her feet, letting go as soon as they planted firmly on the ground. Which was fine. If he hadn’t let go, she would’ve pulled away.

His arms crossed and his voice came out as tight and hard as his biceps. “Don’t push me.”

“Me?” She stabbed a finger at him. “I ask a simple question and you hoist me over your shoulder like some…some...” The boiling of her blood tied her tongue, so she resorted to a glare.

He had the audacity to laugh, a full chuckle that rolled down her spine and gentled the hot rush of temper.

“It’s not funny,” she spat out, determined to ignore her reaction to his laugh. He wouldn’t get out of this so easily. “That was humiliating.”

Once he caught his breath, he reached for her elbow and she let him lead her toward the truck. “Relax. No one saw.”

“That’s not the point. I want to know why you’re not happy one more dealer is off the streets.”

Grant stopped hauling her and she pulled her arm away.

Swiping a hand over his face, he sighed. “He’s a person, Rachel. I’m not happy he’s dead.”

Frustration reared but she bit her tongue until she could speak nicely. “Of course not.”

He quickened his pace towards the truck and she hurried to catch up. He wasn’t even going to answer her?

A thought occurred to her. “Hey, you said “conveniently”. As though you wanted the guy alive for a reason.”

His blond curls mocked her, the rustle of his jacket grated.

She skidded to a stop. “Answer me.”

No yelling, just a simple request that shouldn’t have lit him on fire. But it did. One moment she was glowering at the back of his head, the next he was advancing like a jungle cat, eyes slitted and predatory.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

“Stop nagging me.” He whispered it, harsh and thick, then swung around and left her goose-pimpled in the night.

She hurried to catch up, jumping when an engine rolled over. Just ahead Charlie’s rusted-out truck parked crooked at the curb. A quick grasp of the door and she slid into Charlie’s car. Tobacco and country music immediately welcomed her. Charlie grinned at her and backed away from the crime scene, leaving Grant standing beneath the wash of headlights, a scowl on his face.

“Everything okay, darlin’?”

“I’m fine,” she answered sullenly. She turned to face the window while Charlie blasted a Hank Williams tune. As he drove, she barely heard the music. She replayed her interaction with Grant, besieged by strange doubts and uncertainties.

Had she been nagging Grant? Hounding him the way her mother had hounded her dad? The thought dug open a place long buried, and she couldn’t stop the emotions rising to her chest, to her eyes, burning the lids and making street lamps wavy yellow streaks.

Was there more of her mom in her than she wanted to admit? She’d prided herself on being completely different, independent, but now she was sure the plan had backfired.

When Charlie dropped her off at her apartment, she slid out quickly, returning his smile with a tight grimace she hoped he couldn’t see through. Beneath her fingers the door to his car flipped shut, gunshot loud in the stillness of her neighborhood. She grimaced.

Waving, she spun around and stalked to the house. Pausing at her door, she dug for the keys in her purse. What Grant felt about her mattered, she conceded as she stuck the key in the lock. The last thing she wanted was for him to think of her as a nag.

The front door eased open and she slid in. She sniffed. Chocolate. The rich scent filled her home. Maggie lay on the couch, toes propped on the coffee table, a hunk of brownie resting on a napkin in her hand.

Rachel closed the door behind her. “No eating on the couch.” She pulled off her shoes, not missing Maggie’s eye roll.

She trudged into the living room and sank down next to her sister. Shame still burned in her chest. The cool leather of the couch felt good against her cheek. She pulled her knees to her chest and eyed Maggie.

“Go get your own,” said Maggie.

“I don’t want any.”

“Then why are you staring at mine like a hungry grizzly?”

“A grizzly?” She snorted. “Actually, I’m upset.”

“Hmmm.” Maggie licked a finger. “Not mad?” A bright gleam of interest sparked in her gaze.

“No, not mad.” Rachel hesitated. Baring her soul to Maggie could be a huge mistake. One she’d pay for many times over. Or it could be a step towards healing.

I have to risk it, God. I have to try to walk out this forgiveness.

With the prayer came a strange peace, lapping over her like the gentle waves of Key Largo. “I talked to mom.”

“She denied it?”

“Threw her curling iron at me.”

Maggie chuckled. “I hope you ducked.”

“Trust me, instincts like that don’t fade.” She made a wry face and Maggie responded by sticking out her tongue. They both laughed, and the sound relieved her of any lasting fears. This was the sister she’d known once. This carefree, chocolate-eating woman beside her. No doubt Maggie had learned her lessons just as she had.

“Both mom and dad strayed, even if she denies it. Why does it bother you so much?” Maggie popped the last bit of brownie into her mouth and wiped her fingers on the napkin in her lap.

“Bitterness?” Rachel sighed, leaning her forehead against her knees. “Then with Scott I thought things were safe.” She peeked out from her knees, just to make sure Maggie wasn’t about to explode or cry. She wasn’t; she looked curious. “Scott wasn’t safe at all. And now Grant…”

“Ah.” Maggie swung her legs up onto the couch and then tucked her feet beneath her knees, cross-legged. "They're different people. Grant strikes me as a strong kind of guy, good character. I've seen him in Wiley's before, as a customer and on business. He's honorable."

“He told me not to nag him.” Did her voice really sound that forlorn? That wasn’t like her. She forced herself to sit up straight, scowling when she saw the grin on Maggie’s face.

“Oh, come on, Rachel. Don’t tell me you didn’t know.”

“Know what?”

Maggie rolled her eyes. “You nag people all the time.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yeah.” Her head jutted forward. “You do.”

“So I’m like mom?” That surge of white hot anger zipped through her. It wasn’t fair. Not when she’d tried so hard to be different. To be better.

Maggie laughed, loud, like a clear bell on a cold night. The sound shimmered through the room. “You’re so silly.”

“It’s not silly to dread being like mom.”

“Ha.” And she had the audacity to laugh again. “You’re nothing like her. Your nagging actually accomplishes stuff. It’s what makes you good at what you do. You help people.”

“I don’t want to be annoying,” she said through stiff lips.

Auburn strands danced over Maggie’s shoulders as she shook her head. “It’s who you are. Call it persistent, if you want.” She reached over and patted Rachel’s knee. “No worries, sis. You couldn’t be like mom in a million years.”

A growl filled the room. Miss Priss shot across the carpet as though the mere mention of Rachel resembling Mom lit her tail on fire. Maggie snickered.

Rachel grinned, feeling suddenly light-hearted. “Maybe I do need a brownie.”

***

The next morning Rachel hummed as she organized her contracts and files. The scent of the hyacinths sitting on her file cabinet was just strong enough to give the office a pleasant aroma. Besides the rush of the air conditioner and the sound of traffic outside, no other distractions invaded her space.

Scanning the folder in her hand, she frowned. Where were the
A
s? Oh, by the fichus tree in the corner. She flipped the Alexander case to her left.

D
s. She paused, searching until she found that pile behind her foot. D’Oronico’s, there. All these files were stored in her computer, but she liked to keep a paper copy too, just in case the computer crashed.

Kind of like she had last night. Very embarrassing. She cringed to remember her behavior with Grant. 

She flipped another folder onto the desk. Nagging was something she’d done for a long time, both to get her way and to discover truths. It was a part of who she was, though maybe it was time to temper that part of her nature.

Maggie’s forthright assurance last night had been balm to an open wound. Because she didn’t want to be like her mom. Ever.

Glancing at her desk, she saw her Bible still opened to Peter. God wanted her to rely on him. It was a simple concept, really. And yet, somehow she hadn’t been putting it into practice. Instead, she’d been trusting herself in everything. To pick out the right guy, to avenge Maggie, to be different than her parents.

Ridiculous. No one could be as strong as God. Nothing good could come of her own self-reliance.

I trust you, Jesus
.

No rules, just a determination to let Him be in charge.

She chuckled as she sifted through the pile of papers on her floor. Flopped one folder beside her, another in front. She’d gone through the paperwork yesterday, sorting and filing, now she just needed to get all the folders together, alphabetically, and stick them in her cabinet.

Mayor Owens’s file was somewhere on her desk, withering away from inattention.
Oh, well
. Maggie would go on with her life. Just because the mayor had said he didn’t have the funds, when he did, didn’t mean he was involved with illegal activities. That file labeled B could be anything. She should just push him to the side and forget about him.

In the end, he stayed on her desk, the details of his life, activities and accounts bared. One more look, that was all. A few more connections to explore before she could be fully satisfied of his innocence.

She was just shoving the last file into a drawer when her office door opened. A rush of warm air greeted the coolness of her office, followed quickly by a heavenly scent.

Chinese food.

Stomach rumbling, she thrust the drawer closed.

“Hey there.” Grant carried two foil containers in one hand and a bottle of soda in the other. “Hungry?”

“Starved. Thank you.”

Rachel shut the door behind him, watching as he set the containers on her desk. A flush heated her cheeks. He seemed in a good mood for someone who’d been ticked with her last night. She waffled behind him. Should she apologize? Or just eat?

Might as well get it over with. She stepped forward, stopping just as he turned towards her. They were inches apart, but she could smell cinnamon beneath the sweet and sour chicken scent that layered his cotton shirt.

She looked up at him, her gaze resting on the dimples in his cheeks before meeting his eyes. “No work today?”

“Tonight.” The corners of his eyes crinkled.

“I guess you’re not going to the town barbecue on Sunday?”

“I’ll be there. A little late probably.”

“I’ll save you a seat.” Swallowing, she tried to work up the nerve to apologize. Nerve wasn’t usually so difficult, but apologies were. They dented the pride.

Grant flashed her a smile before edging out of her office door. "I forgot something."

In a moment he was back, a crimson long-stemmed rose cradled in his arms. Fragrant and soft, she could still see the droplets of water clinging to its velvety petals.

She reached for it, the silly grin on his face not escaping her gaze. “This is really sweet.”

His grin faded. “Well, I acted pretty bad. I’m sorry for dragging you away from the scene. Not exactly the best way to impress a woman.”

Wow, he’d gotten good at saying sorry.

Somehow her own remorse escaped her tight throat. “I’m sorry, too. Nagging is something I’ve grown used to—”

“Nagging?” Confusion clouded the brilliance of his eyes.

A deep sense of unease settled on her shoulders. “Yeah, you told me to stop nagging you. I just feel really bad, it being your crime scene and everything.” Not to mention she was completely in love with him and hated for him to think of her as an irritant. But no way would that confession ever cross her lips. She tightened them, just to make sure.

Grant laughed, a short, incredulous sound that surprised her.

“I like your grit,” he said, his gaze level with hers.

“You do?” She felt strangely unsure, no longer the bold, always-in-charge PI.

“Absolutely.” He rubbed his chin. “That case had me concerned and I took it out on you. Again, I’m really sorry.”

Relief rubbed away her insecurity. She grinned at him. “No problem. I guess I can forgive you for that caveman behavior.”

“Caveman is right. You’re an Amazon. Had to work out somehow.” He flexed a bicep.

Laughing, she socked him in the shoulder. “That’s right. Don’t mess with us tall ones.”

They settled on the office couch, each holding a container of food, the soda between them. “At least you don’t ogle women as much as you used to. I’ll take Tarzan over Don Juan any day.” She bit into the chicken, closing her eyes at the pleasurable tang of spices.

“You noticed?”

She popped her eyes open. He’d paused, chicken halfway to his mouth. “Yeah, I did. It bothered me a lot when I met you.”

“Wow, I guess God is changing me.” He sounded so in wonder that she had to bite back her amusement. Instead, she reached over and patted his hand. The contact stymied her for a moment. They were actually friends now. More than friends.

He'd kissed her
.

“After a few weeks of church, Pastor Joe talked about loving each other like family.” A strange smile arched his lips, the awe still evident in the bow of his mouth. “Somehow it clicked in my head that treating women like my personal toys wasn’t right. That I should be looking at them like sisters.”

Rachel took a generous bite of fried rice and winked at him. His back rested against her couch and she couldn’t help thinking that his character was as strong as those shoulders he’d flung her over. The more she knew him, the more she liked him.

This was a man she could spend forever with.

At the thought, she choked on her rice.

“Hey, you okay?” Grant reached over and patted her back, his fingers between her shoulder blades.

“Coke,” she rasped. The burning in her nose signaled she’d probably snorted up a few rice grains. Not good. She sucked the drink down, avoiding his watchful gaze. Things cleared up and out of the corner of her eye she saw Grant trying to hide his grin.

“I choked.” She lifted her chin, not sure whether to be embarrassed or to laugh. The latter won out and she chuckled.

“I noticed.” The dimples didn’t leave his cheeks as he appraised her. “It sounded like you were laughing at my repentance and God taught you a lesson.”

“Very funny.” She set the Coke on the floor and picked up her foil container. “I admire how you’re so determined to follow God.”